Eighth Impressions
by alrightginger
Summary: As fate would have it, eighth impressions are what would matter most to Harriet. Fem!Harry
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Don't ask me why I'm starting another story when I still have two WIP. This story came to me at my son's 3 am bottle feeding and here we are. It just won't leave me alone.**

 **If you follow After Midnight, you know that I really dig a female Harry. So just a warning if you aren't overly thrilled about that.**

 **Please don't forget to review!**

Fate is a fickle concept. Twisting and weaving itself into the lives of people and causing a domino effect of events that are beyond one's control.

But first a word on Draco Malfoy and Harriet Potter.

They say first impressions are important but when Draco first saw Harriet he did not recognize her.

He had seen her first in Madam Malkin's shop.

Seen her and yet did not perceive the significance of her.

Draco wasn't sure exactly what _chosen ones_ were supposed to look like but mousy, scrawny with untamed jet black hair was not how he pictured the said girl who lived.

Indeed, the only thing striking about her, he thought, were her bright green eyes.

He would consider this his first impression of the girl. But if one were to ask Harriet when her first impression were made up of Draco Malfoy she would have to reply that it was the time he scorned her only friend in front of her and she in turn rejected his handshake.

To Harriet, that would set a precedence for years to come. It would be her logic behind every fight they would ever have, every hand slap that ever connected to his cheek, every time she would stomp on his foot.

The thing about impressions though is that, for some people at least, they can change over time. Such was the case for Draco as he fell in love with a girl he could never fully have during a war that wanted to take her life. This would be his reasoning for why he was unwilling to confirm her identity to his Aunt Bella even though he knew for certain that it was Harriet. And that would lead to Harriet's reasoning behind testifying for his family during the trials after the second war.

This would also be the reasoning, as fate would have it, that eighth impressions would matter most for Harriet.

* * *

 **Cause Behind Recent Attacks Still Unknown**

 _Suspected to be the work of a newly rising Dark witches or wizards, the investigations behind the recent explosions in muggle London and several places across the wizarding community have so far turned up nothing._

 _The only thing that seems to be confirmed at this time is that the explosions are in fact due to a strong incident of magic although the aura left behind is at this time untraceable._

" _The ministry is doing everything possible to find out who or what is behind these attacks," said the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. "The attacks seem very amateur in nature and not thoroughly planned out and so we are confident that we should be able to close in on them soon. We understand that the wizarding community is on edge after the recent demise of Voldemort, but we urge everyone to remain calm at this moment."_

 _Indeed, it seems that the peace that the wizarding community was able to endure only lasted for a mere two months. Many are expressing their concern that they would feel more at ease with the situation if Harriet Potter had taken the Auror position Shacklebolt had offered to her this previous May._

" _Miss Potter chose to continue her education this year, and I fully support her decision," replied Shacklebolt when questioned about these concerns. "If she chooses to go into the field at a later date the ministry would be happy to have her. But until then we have plenty of capable witches and wizards in the department who are doing everything in their power to ensure the safety of our community."_

Harry shut the Daily Prophet and placed it face down on the table before her. It was true that she had refused the position with the reasoning that she wanted to finish her education, but as the summer dragged on Harry was unsure if she even had the desire to go into the Auror profession at all. Was she expected to rise to the occasion anytime there was an outbreak of dark magic? She certainly hoped not. It was true that the current attacks _did_ seem juvenile. So far there had been no casualties as most of the attacks were limited to secluded areas. Harry was certain that the ministry, under the new guide of Kingsley, would be enough to handle everything even if others were still doubtful.

And besides, Harry had other things to worry about. Like getting her school supplies for one.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was unsure why he had decided return to Hogwarts for his eighth year. Well, he knew _why_. Malfoy's weren't uneducated and his mother had insisted that she wouldn't raise the first Malfoy to dropout of school. But he couldn't understand why it mattered what Malfoy's did or didn't do anymore. They were no longer a symbol of high social standing within the wizarding world. In fact, the only reason he was so fortunate to even be able to attend school in the first place was because he got off on a technicality that was one Harriet Potter.

Draco was still unsure what led her to testify on their behalf but because she did so, his mother had gotten off on house arrest and his father had gotten one of the lesser sentences in Azkaban prison.

And Draco was able to return to school which is why he was in Madam Malkin's currently with the sleeve to his dress robe lifted so that the witch could hem it.

Draco tried not to think about the tattoo that was on his arm that branded him as on the wrong side of the war and Madam Malkin was apparently trying to avoid the damned thing as well.

And so Draco let his mind wander and, as it normally did whenever he allowed himself to daydream, his thoughts turned back to Potter.

He had met her here in this very shop years ago. He hadn't known then who she was or how significant she would be in his life. She would later scorn him when he offered her his friendship after he realized who she was. And if Draco had to guess, that had been when his infatuation with the girl had started. From that point on he would taunt and torment her just to receive any sort of attention from her.

But things had to change this year.

"Let's see, dear," said Madam Malkin shaking Draco from his thoughts. "That should do it."

Draco was thankful to be able to pay the witch and leave the shop. He was trying more and more to _not_ think about Potter but it was becoming increasingly harder when he knew he would be seeing her at the start of term.

But he needed to find a way to keep his thoughts from straying from her. This year he was going to try to be civil and if that proved to be impossible, he was just going to have to ignore the girl.

One more year of this and would never have to see-

" _Potter!"_

Draco had rounded a corner without paying attention and had ended up running straight into Harriet Potter herself. She apparently hadn't noticed him coming either, for she was unable to brace herself and ended up being knocked backwards onto the street. The books she apparently had just bought were sprawled out around her.

"Malfoy," she hissed or at least that is what Draco thought she had said. She had a treacle tart hanging out of her mouth and her voice was muffled.

Draco was upset with how not-disgusting he found it. He bent down to help her collect her books so he wouldn't have to look directly at her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded after swallowing her treat.

"Picking up your books, Potter. Clearly your deduction skills haven't gotten any better."

" _Why_ are you helping me pick up my books?"

"Because I was the one who knocked them out of your hands," said Draco handing them over to her as she stood. He tried not to smirk as she snatched them away from him.

"Yes, well. Thank you. I suppose."

"No problem."

They stood there staring at one another for the longest time and for a brief moment Potter raised her hand slightly towards him but the next second dropped it and then slowly side stepped around him, never once taking her eyes off of him. He watched her go until she turned the corner where they had collided and he could see her no longer.

Draco thought glumly to himself that her legs appeared even longer than he remembered them.

And then he apparated home.

* * *

The next morning found Harry back at Grimmauld Place in her late godfather's bed where she had taken up residence since the war had ended.

She rolled over on her side and pulled the covers up further around her.

She was thoroughly bothered.

Draco Malfoy had stopped slicking his hair back and it had almost a shaggy look to it. And for some reason that bothered Harry. It was falling in his eyes and Harry had to resist the urge to brush it away. Her hand had almost betrayed her and Harry was unsure _what_ she had been thinking.

She shouldn't want to touch Malfoy at all.

And she certainly shouldn't be thinking about him now.

She _should_ be thinking about her friends.

For the first time in a very long time the trio had been separated. Hermione had gone off to Australia to find her parents and had been dealing with the ramifications from erasing their memories of her. Ron was back at The Burrow with his own family. Harry could have gone with him and was offered so by Mrs. Weasley, but she wanted to give her friends time alone with their families.

Even if this left Harry alone in her dead godfather's house with all his memories.

She buried her head further into his old pillow. There was no way it would contain his scent after all these years but Harry wished each time she laid her head down there that it would.

Harry wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps she should have just gotten a room at the Leaky Cauldron or stayed with Andromeda Tonks who had offered her room at her home earlier in the summer so that she could get to know Teddy better.

But she knew that staying at Grimmauld Place was cathartic if not depressingly so.

The house needed, what Kreacher had deemed, a woman's touch. And though she were barely yet a woman, that is what she had tried to give the old house.

She had done away with any remnants of it's Slytherin past and the house had seen more daylight the past two months than it had in years. The walls were painted, the floors shined, the kitchen and living area redone.

And Harry had found solace when she had taken a sledgehammer to Walburga Black's portrait, successfully ridding the house of her presence for good .

Muggles were always underestimated, Harry thought happily.

The sound of her door creaking made Harry open one eye to peer over and see the Kreacher had entered her room.

"Mistress, there appears to have been another attack last night."

"Where at this time, Kreacher?"

Harry rose slightly from the bed. Kreacher rarely showed any sort of concern for events that affected the wizarding community lately. If he was was anxious, Harry assumed it was because it was causing him distress in some way.

"It appears as though it was near the Malfoy Manor, Mistress Harriet."

"But no casualties were reported?"

Harry felt her heart stop and felt it peculiar. Should she be concerned over Malfoy? Did he have that right to have her worry over him?

"No miss," he said handing her the paper. "It appears it did not actually touch the manor."

Harry skimmed the paper and saw that everyone had apparently been accounted for. She released a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding.

"Good," she said folding the paper back and standing. "Kreacher, I think I'm going to take a walk this morning."

"Will Mistress be back by lunch?"

"Sure. I won't be gone long. I just need to get some air."

"Of course, miss."

* * *

Harry walked down the street. She rarely explored the neighborhood but she supposed this was as good of a time as any. She wouldn't have the chance soon as she would be heading back to Hogwarts within a few weeks time.

She wasn't sure what she expecting to find when she went back.

Hogwarts still felt like home, but Harry herself felt different. She didn't know if she looked different to anyone else, but for the first time since finding out she was a witch and learning about the prophecy that linked her to Voldemort Harry felt _free._

Free to be just Harry.

Harry stopped in her tracks as something caught her eye. A hair salon was to her right and apparently empty save for a young woman with lavender hair who was flipping ideally through a magazine occasionally blowing a bubble with the gum she was chewing.

Harry twisted some of her long raven hair around her finger. Perhaps she could go back a little noticeably different after all. At least physically.

Harry walked into the salon and the lavender haired woman stood up and smiled at her.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I was hoping for something a little _different."_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This chapter features Draco being a typical teenage boy.**

 **Please don't forget to review!**

 **Chapter Two**

Draco Malfoy first realized he truly loved Harriet Potter at the start of his sixth year at Hogwarts. He had hidden himself away in his dorm room and was staring at the tattoo that tainted his skin when the sickening thought dawned on him. He _loved_ the girl.

If he had been honest with himself and forced to think about his feelings for the girl before that moment, he would have probably come to conclusion that he had loved her subconsciously for some time. But as fate had it, it wasn't until he had been forced to choose the side of the war that wanted to take her life that he realized in all actuality wanted to preserve it.

He also realized he was no good for the girl and never would be that same year.

Harriet, always following behind him, wouldn't realize she loved Draco until the winter of her current eighth year at Hogwarts.

She would also see the good in Draco Malfoy that same year.

Even when he could not.

* * *

Harriet couldn't find Malfoy and believe her, it wasn't for lack of trying. She didn't see him on the platform, she couldn't spot him on the train, nor while people were boarding the thestral pulled carts leading to the castle. She had even made up an excuse on the train saying that she wanted to go find the trolley witch to go scour the compartments but she hardly saw any Slytherins on the train in her own year.

"I _know_ he's coming back this year," she said storming towards the Great Hall, fists clenched and swinging aggressively with each step. Ron and Hermione trailed behind her. "I saw him getting his school things."

"Harry," said Hermione cautiously, "isn't it a bit too early to be starting on your Malfoy obsession? We've only just arrived back."

"I'm _not_ obsessed with him. I just want to know where he is at all times-"

Ron snorted.

"-so I can be prepared."

"Prepared for _what?"_ cried Hermione.

"For _anything."_

"You sound like Moody, mate," said Ron snickering. "I think the war has left you a bit paranoid."

Harry ignored their comments as they arrived into the Great Hall. It was filled with students chatting and laughing. Some Harry recognized, others she didn't. But as her eyes darted wildly around the crowd she _still_ didn't see the white blonde head she was looking for.

"Have you seen Malfoy?" she demanded of a younger Slytherin who rushed passed her in fear instead of answering causing Ron to roar with laughter.

 _Where in the hell is he?_

* * *

He saw her long before she saw him even though he was trying his best to avoid her.

He saw her first at the platform even though he had purposefully made himself later than most to board the train. She was struggling to put her trunk up when the _Weasel,_ always flanking her, stepped into help. He noticed her hair there for the first time too. She had cut it shorter than he had ever seen it and the waves that had once been weighed down now sprung free. He felt the desire to run a hand through her hair, stopping when he got to the back of her neck to grip her locks tightly. What was most startling to him, however, was the fact that he could see her shoulders now, something he never in his life thought he would list as something attractive on a woman. But _Merlin_ her shoulders were small, almost bony and he wanted to bite down on them.

His mouth felt dry looking at her.

He managed to successfully avoid her on the train ride over as he rode in a compartment with Blaise and Pansy. He saw her pass by seemingly looking for something but Blaise was standing in front of him blocking his full view. Though he was saved her physical presence, his friends took it upon themselves to make her the topic of conversation.

"Anyone else surprised Potter decided to come back?" asked Pansy her eyes on Draco, trying to gage a reaction. "I thought for certain her and the Weasel would have gone straight to working for Shacklebolt. Not so much surprised that the mudblood returned."

"I'm more surprised at her refusal to be the ministries poster child so far," said Blaise.

"Potter views Hogwarts as her home," said Draco looking out the window. "And she's always hated any sort of attention. It's no wonder she chose to return."

And that was the difference between them, he thought. Potter had always been free to choose. He always had his choices made for him. His family had picked their side of the war before he was born, and he was being forced to finish his education even though he probably never be able to find a suitable career after the war for who would want to hire a former Death Eater.

But this year it would be different. He was choosing to move on from their rivalry or whatever it was.

It was time to let her go.

* * *

Draco was saved from having to sit and try not to stare at Potter during the welcoming feast by being called to the Headmistress' office instead although he didn't consider himself lucky because of it. As soon as he had stepped onto castle grounds the gigantic oaf of a groundskeeper had cornered him and said he was under instructions to escort him to talk to McGonagall. Draco had demanded to know under what reasoning he was being subjected to such treatment but Hagrid had refused to answer. And either way, Draco knew the answer to his own question. They were allowing a former Death Eater back onto school grounds and McGonagall had confirmed this reasoning as soon as she stepped into her office.

"Mr. Malfoy," she greeted taking a seat across from him and peering down at him from behind her glasses. "Unfortunately you have had to miss to welcoming feast so that we may have this little chat, but I will make sure the house elves send you a plate up to your dorm."

When Draco said nothing the Headmistress continued.

"I was wanting to meet up with you to discuss everything at an earlier time and date but with the summer being so _busy-"_

"With my family being on trial, you mean?" questioned Draco, his voice coming out as venom.

"Yes," the Headmistress agreed completely unfazed by his bluntness. "As you can imagine, Mr. Malfoy, there have been certain _objections_ to you returning to Hogwarts. Parents want to make sure their children are safe."

"Of course," said Draco resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"But I am willing to give you another chance and to allow you to complete your education," she said shifting into her professor tone. "But understand this, we cannot afford to have one slip up from you, Mr. Malfoy. One foot out of place and that will be it for you at Hogwarts. I take the safety of my students seriously. Just as much as I take your education seriously. Do not force me to choose between the two. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes," he said simply wanting nothing more than to retire to the Slytherin dorm and get the first day of a long year overwith.

"Now, as far as living arrangements for the 8th years-"

"Do we not get to go back to our old houses?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Malfoy. This year we are trying something different," she said and Draco grew tense. "This year to promote unity, the students that are returning for their 8th year will all room together in a dorm that has constructed in the second floor of the castle."

"You can't be serious! None of those people are going to want me living with them. Wouldn't it be better to send me back to Slytherin?"

"No, Mr. Malfoy. I don't believe it would. I think you, of all people, could use a fresh start. Perhaps some fresh faces as well. Now for the other matter I wanted to address with you," McGonagall said gazing at him with a hard expression. "Miss Harriet Potter."

"What about her?"

Draco couldn't help the way his voice was dripping with bitterness and he was certain his face was twisted into a sneer. The very last thing in the world he wanted to discuss was Potter.

"It's no secret that you two have had a long standing rivalry with one another. You know how to rile the girl up more than anyone else in the school. She's not very _logical_ when it comes to her fights with you. That is to say she doesn't think through her possible consequences before engaging with you."

Draco wanted to speak up and say that she riled him up as well though not in the same way McGonagall was referring to. The girl got underneath his skin in such a way that some nights his only release was in the form of the glares he stored in his mind from their fights in years past. But he couldn't say _that_ to the Headmistress.

"I'm not going to do anything to her," he said instead feeling exasperated. "Why are you not having this talk with her as well?"

"Believe me, I will not hesitate to pull you both in for a meeting should another classroom get blown up due to one of your spats, but I wanted to approach you about the matter first as you have much more to lose should you and Miss Potter get into another fight."

"Yes Professor," muttered Draco feeling utterly defeated.

"Now, unless you have any further questions you are dismissed for the night. The portrait of Hamnet Shakespeare guards your new living quarters. The password is _Cymbeline._ Hopefully this will be the last time you have to step foot in this office."

Draco stood and took his leave, fuming all the way back to his new living quarters. Truthfully, Draco _had_ always intentionally riled Potter up. It was as though he could just _feel_ when she was going to explode, as if her magic was leaking into him and he couldn't help but just give her the smallest of pushes. Often times this would lead to classrooms being blown up, shattering of glass, fires, etc. She could not seem to control her magic around him and he _liked_ that. As though he had stripped her soul bear and he was the only one to see her so vulnerable. As much as he enjoyed the fighting, as much as he _got off_ on the fighting, he couldn't help but wish sometimes the vulnerability she shared with him would be in a more intimate level. Though he knew he was foolish to wish for such things.

* * *

Knowing that he was the last to return to his new dorm and everyone would likely be waiting around, Draco decided he may as well make an entrance and go in holding his head high.

At least that had been the plan. He had marched right up to the portrait of Shakespeare (whoever _that_ was) and spat out the password (he didn't understand what a _Cymbeline_ was either) and had managed to go all of three steps with his composure together until he spotted Potter.

The idiot girl had stood up as soon as he had walked in as though she had been waiting on him to arrive. She had been sitting in front of the fireplace surrounded by the returning Gryffindors and was the first to notice his presence. She stood as though she were bracing herself for a fight. The locked eyes for several seconds, grey meeting emerald, until he could take it no longer. Running a hand through his now unkempt locks, he strode up the stairs that led to the boys half of the dormitory.

He didn't want to admit how relieved he was to see Blaise in the boys dorm. They had always been civil with one another but Blaise had never worshiped the ground Draco walked on like the other Slytherins. He had kept out of the war as well and Draco often thought not choosing a side was just a bad as choosing the wrong one. But Blaise and Pansy were the only other returning Slytherins aside from Draco himself and they were going to have to ban together to make it through the rest of the year, Draco supposed.

"Have all the beds been chosen?" asked Draco hoping to Merlin he didn't have to sleep directly next to Weasley.

"Yours is here next to mine," said Blaise pointing to the last bed. "Everyone else has already set their stuff up. I wasn't aware we would be all _communal_ this year."

"Nor was I until the Headmistress informed me in our meeting."

"Was that why you missed the feast then? What did she want?"

"To warn me that if I mess up in the least my education is over," said Draco plopping down on his bed and pausing for a moment before speaking again. "And she also told me that she wants the fighting between Potter and I to cease this year."

"Fat chance of that, yeah?"

Draco said nothing. Only staring up at the wall. After a moment Blaise spoke again, his tone clearly amused.

"You know, I think she was looking for you at dinner and when we came to the new dorm."

Draco physically had to restrain himself from whipping his head in Blaise's direction, not wanting to give away how badly he wanted to know why.

"Oh yeah?" he said in a tone that he hoped was uncaring.

"She kept looking at Pansy and me as though we were going to pull you out of thin air and she kept muttering to her friends. _Pansy_ didn't seem too happy about it. I think she is still under the impression that there's a chance for you and her."

"There's not."

Draco had dated Pansy briefly when he realized his obsession with Potter had formed into love. He thought it would help. He thought that if he could turn his focus on another girl, one that had more to offer him as far as bloodlines and political views went, he would be able to rid Potter from his mind.

But it didn't help. Whenever he kissed Pansy he wondered what it would be like to kiss Potter. Would it be like their fighting? Passionate and fighting for dominance? Or would it be the tender intimacy he wanted to see from her. Whenever he looked into Pansy's eyes he was always disappointed that they weren't more lovely. And whenever he made love to Pansy he pictured Potter underneath him, writhing and clawing at him as he drove her to the edge of ecstasy.

No, there was no chance for him and Pansy and it wasn't fair to either of them to think that there was.

"Who all is back anyway," said Draco trying to change the subject. "I didn't bother to look."

"Potter obviously and her lackeys. Finnigan, Thomas, _Longbottom-"_

Draco snorted at this.

"-both the Patil twins, Brown, Abbott, Bones, Corner, Goldstein. That's all I saw."

"This is going to be a long year," Draco said glumly.

Later that night when everyone had retired to their beds and Draco was forced to listen to the blaring snores of the Weasel did he allow himself to feel the extremity of the hopelessness that followed him around as of late. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to make it through this year and he wondered not for the first time whether there was even a point to coming back to this place. He felt terribly lost and for the first time in his life unsure of his place.

And so, allowing himself just this once to slip, Draco let his mind drift to what he was sure of.

Emerald eyes and raven hair that no longer covered her shoulders.

He slipped his hand into the waistline of his pajama bottoms and found relief.

* * *

Harriet could not sleep. She was in a new room surrounded by somewhat new dorm mates. And worst of all Malfoy had completely _ignored_ her. She had waited around for him all evening, sure as the sun that they would get into one of their normal tiffs but he had taken one look at her and walked away. All while running a stupid hand through his stupid hair. Hair that she couldn't believe she _still_ wanted to touch.

She was not used to Malfoy ignoring her and she didn't like it.

Tomorrow, she decided, she was going to _make_ him pay attention to her even if she had to blow up another classroom to do so.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Please don't forget to review!**

 **Chapter Three**

The first time Draco realized he could make Harriet lose control of her magic, they were eleven. It was during Potions and he had made some snide comment about either her friends or her family (he honestly couldn't remember now) and her cauldron had exploded in front of her. Snape had taken 50 points from Gryffindor.

The first time Draco realized how _enticing_ it was to watch Harriet lose control, they were fourteen. She had been selected to participate in the Triwizard Tournament and she was so naturally on edge the whole year because of it that all Draco had to do was make the slightest comment and she would go off. That was the year the classroom had been blown up. That was also the first time Draco found that Harriet being so vulnerable served well for fantasies. It was as though he could feel her magic pulsing through him until he gave himself relief.

* * *

There was another attack but this time whoever was behind them struck the same place twice. Malfoy Manor had been subject to another explosion but once again it did not touch the actual Manor, just the land surrounding it. It was the topic of discussion among the student body the morning of the first day of classes.

"This is quite peculiar," said Hermione concerned. "I wonder if it's some extremist from our side."

Harry said nothing but instead glanced around the eighth year table where, once again, Malfoy was missing. She assumed the attack was probably the reason why. He was probably trying to get in touch with his mother even though the article had stated everyone within the Manor was unharmed. But it still irked Harry to no end to not have him in her line of vision. She had gotten up early that morning and waited in the common room to confront him about ignoring her the night before, but she had to wonder now if he woken up long before she did and she missed him entirely.

"Staring aggressively into space isn't going to make him appear, Harry," teased Hermione.

"Who appear?" questioned Ron.

"Malfoy," said Hermione smirking. "Harry's not stopped looking for him since we've been back."

"Why isn't he at breakfast though?" asked Harry not bothering to deny anything. "I waited for him all morning. Do you think McGonagall came and got him when she got word about what happened?"

"Perhaps," said Hermione. "But Harry, I think you need to lay off Malfoy this year. Take it easy on him."

"What are you on about?" asked Ron as though he could not believe his ears. "Since when has Malfoy ever once gone easy on us."

"Malfoy knows how to get under Harry's skin so much that she nearly takes everything in her path down when he sets her off. But Harry also doesn't back down from a fight and even will go looking for it. Honestly, it's like something in you is drawn to him Harry. I just think it's time to - you know - take the high road for once."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. Nothing in me is _drawn_ to that git," said Harry stabbing at her sausage on her plate.

But as much as Harry wanted to deny it, she couldn't help but know that Hermione's words were true. There was something within her that was constantly seeking Malfoy out and it had been there for some time now. No one affected her like he did. She didn't even lose control of her magic around Voldemort, but with Malfoy it was so easy to let it go. Pulse racing, teeth clenching, it was as though she _lived_ for their fights. She knew he did as well for there were times she was certain she felt his heart beating within her, always matching her rapid pounding.

* * *

The Headmistress had come to fetch Draco early that morning informing him of the attack on his home. He had talked to his mother through the Floo Network while McGonagall watched on. His mother had promised him that she was completely unharmed, but Draco had wanted to pack up and immediately return home. His mother was no longer allowed to carry a wand and she was completely unprotected. But Narcissa would not hear of it.

"I'm not going to let you ruin your one chance to get your life back in order," she had said firmly. "It would destroy me if you put your life on hold because of me. You should be able to be a normal boy for once and enjoy Hogwarts with your friends."

Draco wanted to argue that he didn't _have_ friends at Hogwarts and he was beginning to wonder if he ever did. He also wanted insist that it was much too late for him to be a _normal boy._ Whatever that was. The tattoo on his arm was proof that he could never have such things. But he didn't say any of that. Instead he held back the tears that were stinging his eyes (because Malfoys just _didn't_ cry), nodded his head, and bid farewell to his mother. When he stood from the fireplace, the Headmistress was staring at him with a most perplexing look on her face.

It wasn't until Draco had arrived early to his first class of the day did he realize what it was.

Pity.

* * *

The first class the eighth years had that morning was Potions. Slughorn had decided to stay on the staff, and Harry had been pleased. Sure, she still wasn't a professional brewer by any means but she didn't dread going to a class instructed by Slughorn as she had certain _other_ professors. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left breakfast and gone straight to the dungeons and to Harry's complete surprise Malfoy was already there. Without thinking (as was her usual method of madness) Harry pushed straight past Ron and Hermione and strode to the spot beside Malfoy. She heard Hermione hiss at her to come back but she ignored the other girl. Keeping her eyes on Malfoy, she dropped her bag, plopped herself down in the seat next to him, and threw one leg over the other.

He looked right at her perplexed and then rolled his eyes.

But Harry saw the ghost of a smirk on his face.

They were going to have it out here in front of everyone and she could hardly contain herself.

* * *

Draco could feel Potter stealing glances at him all during Potions. More than that, he could feel her magic start seep from her causing him to be in a state of euphoria. He swore her magic had a scent, cinnamon and honey like her and it was stronger than ever. It fell over him, trickling into him, and he felt that with her magic he could do _anything._

That was the way Potter made he feel, he thought, as he dared to sneak a glance at her. Like he could do _anything._

He had been concerned when she decided to sit next to him during class but then she sat down and swung one pretty leg over the other and gave him that _look_ he knew it was going to be harder to let old habits die than he thought.

Merlin, all he wanted was to watch her ignite.

"It's rude to stare, Potter," he murmured as he jotted down notes. Potter hadn't even taken a quill out, she was so distracted by him. "I would ask if you were ever taught such things, but I'm turning over a new page."

"Where were you this morning?"

Draco loved Potter's bluntness. He never had to wonder what was on her mind. She often spat it at him without him even having to ask.

"I was having a chat with my mother, if you really must know."

"Is she okay then?"

"Yes," said Draco turning to face her fully this time. They locked eyes for a brief second before he turned his attention back to the front. "Concerned are you?"

"Your mother could have told Voldemort I was alive but she didn't."

Draco said nothing and tried to keep his eyes forward. Slughorn was droning on about the same potions he had their sixth year and Draco knew them all by heart. Potter desperately needed to be paying attention. Potions was her worst subject, but Draco enjoyed the way her focus was solely on him.

 _You're supposed to be moving on from_ whatever _it is you have with her,_ he told himself.

But right now, feeling off a high from her magic, he couldn't bring himself to give a shite.

"Today we are going to be brewing an old favorite, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn clapping his hands together and bringing Draco's attention back towards him. "You'll be brewing in pairs this time around. Let's see if we can give Mr. Malfoy and Miss Potter a run for their money, eh?"

Draco stood from his seat and groaned. Potter was the worst potion's partner to have. Whatever actual dumb luck she managed to stumble upon their sixth year, Draco was certain was just that - _dumb luck._ If he did cave into the urge to set the girl off, he would be taken down as well now that they were forced to brew together.

He walked quickly to gather his supplies, attempting to leave Potter behind, but as usual she was close behind him. He had managed to grab an Ashwinder egg for the potion when she was suddenly beside him again. She had both hands on her hips and her eyes were boring into him.

"What's your problem?" he asked attempting to ignore the smell of cinnamon and honey. It made his damn head spin.

"You," she said simply. "Why did you ignore me yesterday? And today you've hardly said one rude thing to me the whole time we've been sitting next to each other."

"Missing my certain brand of charm are you?" he couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face. "Grab that horseradish and lets get to work."

"You're up to something, I know it!"

Draco merely shook his head as he walked back to his table, clutching his potion supplies. Potter stormed after him and Draco caught the alert looks of her two friends. They were prepared to have her back should she need them. As if Potter couldn't handle him all on her own.

"Contrary to whatever you may think in that mind of yours, Potter, I don't live to screw with you."

 _Oh, but I wish I could._

"Why are you not coming after me?" she demanded, her voice growing shrill. "You're _always_ coming after me!"

"Miss Potter, Mr. Malfoy!" Slughorn chided. "That is _enough!"_

"Maybe I don't want to _come after you,"_ Draco spat back, dropping his supplies carelessly on the table and taking a few steps closer to her. "Have you ever considered that maybe _you're_ the one coming after _me?"_

"That's a load of _rubbish!"_

"Harry, _stop!"_ Granger pleaded with her friend.

"Stay out of this, Granger. It's none of your concern," Draco said without taking his eyes off of Potter.

"Don't talk to her that way," Potter said stepping closer to him.

There wasn't much space left between the two of them now and Draco had ample view of her. And that's when he _saw_ it. The look in her eyes wasn't hatred, it was passion. Her chest was heaving and she was biting her lower lip so hard in frustration that Draco was surprised she didn't draw blood. He had the sudden desire to take that lip in between his own teeth.

And so, without thinking which tended to be more _Potter's_ technique, he did.

He grabbed her, one hand behind her neck clenching at her hair like he fantasized about yesterday on the platform. The other hand gripping not so gently at her waist. She tasted like her magic smelled - like cinnamon and honey and Draco wondered why on earth he didn't think of stopping one of their spats like this before. _This_ made so much more sense to him. _This_ was much better than fighting. He had barely registered that Potter was kissing him back when suddenly she pushed him back with such force he stumbled into his chair.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks scarlett, her eyes wild. She took a deep breath and then another before rounding on Draco again. He was prepared for a slap (he probably _deserved_ a slap) but instead she grabbed him roughly by the shirt collar and brought him back down for another kiss. All Draco is able to register this time is that all of his senses are flooded with cinnamon and honey, and he felt as though her magic was pouring into him - _becoming_ him.

And then Potter choose that moment to go off.

There's an explosion and all Draco felt at that moment was pain.

And then everything went black.

* * *

The last thought Harry had before the darkness hit was that Draco Malfoy smelled of cedar wood and ivory soap. And then she erupts and she decides to hold on to Malfoy instead of stepping away from him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The beginning of the year fights between Draco Malfoy and Harriet Potter were legendary. After having spent a summer or so apart it was as if they could not contain themselves at the start of term. They had become a talk of the school and after their third year, students began to place bets on how the fights would end. And so everyone had walked into potions expecting _something_ to occur but it was Blaise Zabini who won that year after somehow correctly predicting that the fight would end in a kiss _and_ an explosion. Perhaps that was because he had spent more time than anyone else observing the two. Perhaps it was because he noticed the way Potter looked at Draco before Draco himself did.

But whatever the reason, there was no one could have predicted what was to happen next.

* * *

The first thing Harriet became aware of was the throbbing of her head and that there was a hush of voices surrounding her. Eyes fluttering open, it took her a moment to adjust to the light and to realize that she was in the hospital wing.

 _A new record,_ she thought lamely to herself. _Landed myself here on the first day of classes._

Groaning and clutching her head, she tried to sit up but was pushed back down almost right away by a pair of hands on her shoulders.

"Lay down, Potter. It's going to take you a while to adjust," came the voice of Madam Pomfrey.

"Adjust to what?"

Peering around, Harry noticed for the first time that Ron and Hermione were at her bedside, each mirroring a concerned expression. She had barely opened her mouth to ask them what was wrong when she caught Ron's eyes dart to the bed next to her in a murderous way. Harry turned to find Malfoy staring back at her with an ardent look.

" _What_ are you looking at?" she hissed. "And what's going on? Why are we here and why does my head feel as though it's going to split open?"

"Miss Granger, will you kindly let the Headmistress know that Miss Potter is awake now," said Madam Pomfrey and the younger girl nodded and left the room.

"What's going on?" asked Harry again, this time to Ron who had remained with her.

"I'm not really sure," said Ron. "You sort of went off after...well, after- _the kiss."_

 _The kiss._

Fucking Merlin.

Harry had forgotten all about the kiss she and Malfoy shared. No wonder she had gone off like she did; she had gone completely mental.

"You sort of wiped out half of the potions room," continued Ron, looking just as sick as Harry felt. "When we got you here Pomfrey said Malfoy needed to contact his mother and then asked if there would be anyone _you_ would consider a guardian. She said it was important and well, I sort of called-"

" _Harry!"_

"Mum," finished Ron as his mother came rushing into the room. "She and dad have been talking to McGonagall in the hall."

"Harry, dear, how are you feeling?" asked Mrs. Weasley, brushing some of Harry's fringe out of her eyes.

"Like I've had a dragon dropped on my head."

"That sounds about right, Miss Potter."

A new voice entered the room and Harry gingerly turned her head to see McGonagall followed by Mr. Weasley, Hermione, and Narcissa Malfoy. A sickening fear ran through Harry; if Mr. Weasley had left work, whatever had happened to them was serious.

"Harry," greeted Mr. Weasley taking the seat next to her bed. He looked more weary than Harry could remember seeing him. "We came as soon as we heard."

"What's going on?" asked Harry once more.

"Perhaps Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger ought to wait in the hall," suggested Madam Pomfrey.

"You can't make us do that!" cried Ron, outraged.

"Ronald, Harry may not _want_ us to stay," said Hermione, though she looked as uncomfortable with the idea of leaving as Ron did.

"They can stay," said Harry. "I just want to know what the hell is going on."

"Language, dear," chided Mrs. Weasley but her voice held no real reproach.

"Sorry."

Though she really wasn't. Everyone was looking at her as though something or someone had _died_ and it was setting her on edge. She had seen that look all her life, and was tired of it. Nothing could possibly be worse than what she had endured the past few years.

"Potter," said McGonagall, "how familiar are you with the magic of _bonding?"_

* * *

Draco knew exactly what had happened from the moment he opened his eyes and found himself in the hospital wing. When he woke he felt as though his body were on fire, and when he caught sight of the girl in the bed next to his he knew immediately why.

Bonded.

He had _bonded_ with Potter.

And suddenly everything made sense.

All these years, he hadn't been setting her off. Her magic had been _searching_ for him, trying to mold itself to him; and being unable to do so, her magic had retaliated. And now, for whatever reason, it had finally succeeded and…

"Bonding?" asked Potter, her brow furrowed.

And _fucking hell_ she didn't know what it meant.

"Bonding," repeated the Headmistress once more. "In the wizarding world, the act of being bonded binds two people together. It serves as a marriage. Typically, it is done voluntarily in a ceremony like a muggle wedding. Though in some cases, such as with you and Mr. Malfoy, your magic acts on its own accord and bonds you to another person."

"What do you _mean_ it serves as a _marriage?"_ cried Potter. "That's not- that's not how marriage _works."_

"You are probably more accustomed to how the muggles view marriage, and indeed it is not as strong of a commitment for them as it is for us," replied McGonagall. "Muggles can decide to be with one another, and they can decide to leave one another. When a witch or wizard is bonded to another- well, Miss Potter, the option of leaving is, for lack of a better word, nonexistent."

"That's not what marriage is. Marriage is a _choice._ It's choosing to be with someone, choosing to love them."

Draco felt his mother still from next to him. He was certain that she could tell the conversation was about to take a turn and she grabbed his hand, though his eyes remained on Potter as he found himself unable to look away.

"Miss Potter, if your magic has bonded you to Mr. Malfoy," began McGonagall, and Draco thought she looked rather anxious, "then the potential for _affection_ is already there."

"I don't- I don't _love_ him. I _can't_ love him," cried Potter shrilly. When she was met with a disbelieving look from the Headmistress she turned towards the Weasleys for support. "I can't be marr- _bonded_ to him! You have to do something! Tell me you can do something- _anything!"_

"Harry, I'm afraid the magic is irreversible," said Mr. Weasley, his tone kind yet sad. "There is nothing that we can do unfortunately."

"What do you mean it's _irreversible,"_ this time it was the Weasley's son who had the outburst. "Harry can't be married to _him._ It doesn't-it doesn't make any damn sense."

"Ronald-"

"Sometimes these things often _don't_ make sense. At least not right away," said McGonagall. "But it _is_ happening and we are going to have to deal with it the best that we can. Accommodations are being made as we speak so that you two may continue your educations while bonded."

"What sort of accommodations?" asked Draco, finally able to find his voice.

"A dorm is being set up for the two of you that is a similar nature to the Heads dorm. Your belongings are being moved there as well."

"What do you mean we're having a separate dorm set up for us?" cried Potter. "Why can't we remain with the rest of the eighth years?"

"It is important the newly bonded spouses have access to one another during the first few months of the... _relationship,"_ said Pomfrey, choosing her words carefully. "Right now the two of you are in some pain because it is still fresh and if you are not in close proximity of one another there will be consequences."

"I don't want him to have _access_ to me," spat Potter. "I don't care what sort of consequences there are! I'll go the whole of my life with my head throbbing if I have to!"

"You are still in shock, Miss Potter. I know this is difficult to wrap your head around right now, but you _must_ at least co-exist with Mr. Malfoy until the bond becomes more secure. Then you will find you can have more space between the two of you if that is what you truly want," said McGonagall.

"Harry and Malfoy- they _hate_ each other! They'll kill each other if they're forced to be together like this!" roared Weasley.

And for once Draco had to agree with the Weasel.

He always believed Potter would be the death of him and now he feared it more than ever. They had been meant to collide for _years_ now. He just didn't suspect it would be _this_ sort of collision and that what would kill him would be the fact that he was bonded to a woman who could never love him back.

* * *

Harriet could remember bits and pieces of her childhood.

Much of it, she suspected, she had blocked out. But there were things that were etched in her mind: the trip to the zoo for her cousin's birthday, the way her aunt made her braid her hair nearly everyday to hide her curls, her bursts of accidental magic.

And she remembered the books.

When Harriet had been younger -much, much younger- she had a fascination with muggle fairy tales. Though not in the way most girls were enchanted with them, she supposed.

They were _silly._

They whole lot of them were absolutely ridiculous, she thought.

Waiting around on someone with an absurd name like _Prince Charming_ to save you- _that_ was not the sort of life she wanted to lead. One girl had even given up her _voice_ for a chance to be with the boy she thought she loved.

And Harriet valued her voice far too much to give it up for some _boy._

She had spent years waiting for someone, _anyone,_ to save her from the Dursleys. She had spent nearly her whole childhood staring at their front door willing for someone to burst in who would want her. Who would want to give her a better life and who would _love_ her.

But she quickly learned those desires were as silly as the women from the fairy tales she grew up reading.

She would have to learn how to save herself. She would have to be her own knight, her own defender.

And she became it and she was _good_ at it.

She wasn't like those women in her childhood story books.

And Draco Malfoy wasn't her Prince Charming.

* * *

It took several moments for the outburst to die down. Between Potter nearly hyperventilating and Weasley's disbelief that Potter could ever be bonded to someone like _him,_ it took the Headmistress a good several minutes to gain control over the situation again.

All the while Draco's mother remained uncharacteristically silent next to him. Draco turned to look at his mother fully for the first time since her arrival and found her pale. He gave her hand, which was still clutching his, a squeeze and she offered him a softening look before standing.

"I'd like to have a word alone with my son," she said and Draco heard the tremble in her voice.

"Of course," agreed Pomfrey. "I'll just close the bed curtains and place a silencing charm if you'd like. Seeing as he can't - _venture_ very far."

His mother waited until the curtains were securely wrapped around his bed before speaking again. She sat herself at the foot of his bed this time and Draco, not distracted by Potter finally, was able to take in his mother's appearance.

She still remained in her wealthy robes as her apparel had been one of the few things not seized in the house when the ministry came through, but that was the nicest thing about her. Her hair was sloppy and put up in a messy bun which left Draco to wonder if she knew how to style her hair without the use of magic. Her eyes held bags underneath them and she seemed paler than normal.

She didn't seem as though she were holding herself together well and a sudden guilt bubbled up inside of Draco. If he were bonded to Potter his mother was truly alone, for he would be unable to go home for as long as it took the bond to form.

"Draco," she began, "I'm not sure if I ever told you, but your father and I - we were an _arranged_ marriage, you see. My mother, fearing the worst after my sister ran off with the muggleborn, wanted to make sure that my prospects were not ruined and your father had shown some interest at me during the time we attended school together though I was younger than him."

Draco nodded but did not speak.

"Luckily for me, your father and I grew to love each other. Which is not always the case among arranged marriages. And even though I truly, truly love your father - I am glad he's not here at the moment."

"What do you mean, mother?"

"Have you ever wondered _why_ we did not select a bride for you, or attempt to set up an agreement with another pureblood family?"

"I hadn't considered it. Honestly, I thought such things were sort of out of practice."

"Unfortunately, no. They're still very much in practice," said his mother with a small smile. "But we chose not implement them because of the girl in the bed next to you. Or at least that was _my_ reasoning. I am not certain your father ever caught on."

"What do you mean?"

"Draco, you've talked about her nonstop from the time you were eleven. Every single summer you would return home you would have stories about Harriet Potter and, though you've desperately tried to mask it, somewhere down the line you've fallen in love with her. I'm no fool."

"I can't-I couldn't help it-"

"I know, darling, I _know._ That's why when your father approached me about possible families I immediately said no. There is no way you could love another girl with as much fire as you do Harriet Potter."

Draco said nothing as he took in his mother's expression. He wasn't sure if she was disappointed in him. He knew his father would be had he been present. He couldn't help it that he had gone and fallen in love with the one girl whom he was sure was off limits. Or at least _had_ been off limits when they were on opposite sides of the war. But now - now they were bonded and she was within his reach. Just a fingertip, just a brush away. And yet just that small distance apart from him as well.

"I'm sorry, mother," he said finally, not knowing what else _to_ say.

"Darling, had the circumstances been any _different_ than they were today-" Draco knew that she meant the war- "then I would dare say this bonding would be most unfortunate but it's a new day so to speak. Things are changing and we must embrace it."

"I don't understand."

"Do you love her Draco? Do you want the marriage to _work?"_

Draco paused for a moment, swallowing as he did so. "Yes, but mother- I've spent the majority of my time in school making her hate me. She doesn't _want_ to be married to me."

"Then _court_ her," said his mother simply as if that solved everything.

"You-you think this is a good match. Don't you?"

"She's a force to be reckoned with," said his mother with a fond smile. "You _need_ someone like that."

Draco frowned. Potter truly was fierce in all things that she did. If the sheer lack of bond being established didn't kill him first, Potter surely would for trying to win her over.

"Thank goodness your father isn't here," said his mother, standing to draw back the curtains to his bed. "He'd turn this union into something to further his political standing."

* * *

Their dorm was set up in a similar fashion to the Head's dorms. Which would have made Draco feel rather smug if he weren't afraid to be staying there _alone_ with a girl who would likely try to off him during the night.

The entrance to their new quarters was guarded Sir Cadogan which was rather off putting to Draco but he knew that Potter found it amusing for it was the first time the corners of her lips drew up to form the closest thing to a smile that he had seen all day. So Draco supposed that was enough of a reason for him to deal with the portrait's insanity.

Finally alone and thoroughly exhausted from the day's events, Potter sat slumped in front of the fireplace, while sat in a chair beside her. He wasn't sure exactly what to say to the girl. His mother had only given him the simple instruction of courting the girl but she never told him how to go about doing such an impossible task.

But Draco was going to try.

His thoughts strayed back to mere days ago when he had vowed to himself to give up his affections for the girl. He had been a fool.

He knew his feelings for Potter were in part being enhanced by the bond, but he couldn't imagine now - being so, so close to her- how he had ever expected to move on.

She was lovely, she was fierce, she was _on fire._

Literally on fire.

Potter had been staring so intently (and possibly aggressively) into the fire that the flame had engorged and caught her school robes on fire.

She stood, shrieking, and began to discard of her robe, stomping on the material until the flame was out.

"What the _hell,"_ she snapped, breathless.

Draco blinked.

She shouldn't _still_ be having accidental magical outbursts.

Should she?

And yet she had gone off once more.

"I can help you control it - your magic that is," spoke Draco. "We're bonded now. I should be able to help in some way-"

"I don't _need_ you to control me," she spat back at him. " _You're_ the one who keeps setting me off!"

"That's not - I didn't mean it that way…"

" _You_ are not my husband," she said, her fists clenched, "and I am _not_ your wife! This whole thing has been a colossal mistake and I am going to bed."

She stomped up the stairs where Draco knew there would be only one bedroom, and he followed knowing he had no other choice. He felt the familiar burning as soon as she was a few steps away from him and he knew by the way that she clutched her head that she felt the pull as well.

Thankfully, McGonagall had seen fit to provide them with two separate beds and Potter crawled into hers, drawing the curtains tightly closed around her without so much as wishing him goodnight.

Draco signed and threw himself down on his bed and was left to wonder how exactly a _snake_ was supposed to court a _lion_.

He had spent all of his time at Hogwarts making sure she hated him, he had told his mother earlier. That had been easier when he thought he couldn't have her, but now - now things were different.

He would have to try to win her over, to make her _his,_ or suffer the consequences.

And suddenly he knew exactly how he was going to go about it.

He would have to correct every wrong he had ever done to the girl.

Starting with making things right with Weasley and Granger.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Please don't forget to review!**

 **Chapter Five**

The rumor mill at Hogwarts was back to running full speed after the events from the eighth years Potions class. There were only a hand full of students who had actually paid witnessed the event, but it was Lavender Brown who overheard the words " _Potter," "Malfoy,"_ and " _bonded"_ by a group of professors who were passing by and took no notice of her.

Naturally, Lavender told Parvati, who in turn told her sister, who then told nearly the entire eighth year common room. Pansy Parkinson immediately burst into angry tears, and retreated to her bed for the remainder of the night. Blaise Zabini could be found sitting in front of the fireplace, a dazed expression on his face, and laughing to himself every few minutes.

Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were adamantly denying the rumor. Both boys having had a crush on Harriet Potter during one of their years at Hogwarts, and finding _Draco Malfoy_ completely substandard when it came to her.

To Hermione Granger, things were finally making sense. Adding up logically for the first time in _years,_ and she felt completely ignorant for never taking any notice before. Though she said nothing to anyone.

But it was Ron Weasley who confirmed this rumor after returning back to the dormitory with Hermione in tow. In a fit of rage, Ron struck the nearest wall with his fist, succeeding in bloodying and bruising his knuckles in the process. He clutched his hand to him, screaming obscenities through his pain.

" _Ronald!"_ cried Hermione over his howling.

"How in the _bloody hell_ could she be bonded to someone like _him?"_

By the next morning - and before Harriet herself could even wake up - the whole school knew that Draco Malfoy and Harriet Potter were bonded.

* * *

Draco wouldn't consider himself well rehearsed in the ways of women, but he thought he knew enough about Harriet Potter to know that it was probably a bad idea to attempt to wake her up.

But they had class to attend. Their first day of classes as _spouses_ and it was already going to be hard enough on them without being late to Charms added onto that.

He had woken up first and hadn't been surprised by the fact. Potter normally came stumbling into breakfast at the last minute -tie half undone, hair twisted into a sloppy side braid- which would have normally been fine, if he couldn't go as far as the door without feeling as though he were hit with a stinging jinx. They had to do everything together until the bond had formed properly, including going to breakfast. He had tried banging around in their room but the girl slept like the dead. He literally thought she had _died_ for a moment until he placed his fingers on her wrist and felt a pulse.

He attempted to open their windows so the morning sun might wake her, but she merely groaned and covered her head with her pillow while turning over. And, _Merlin,_ he thought she was adorable. Which he hated to admit.

He sighed to himself. He had no other choice now.

"Potter," he said poking her in the side. " _Potter!_ Wake up!"

"Go _away,"_ she moaned. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Yes, I can see that. The unfortunate thing is, however, we have class. And I cannot venture very far without you, and would very much _like_ to get breakfast before the day starts."

Draco's words held no sway over Potter. Instead, she turned on her side, facing away from him, and the soft snores resumed.

" _Potter!"_

Feeling as though he had exhausted every other option, Draco decided to yank the bed sheet off of Potter and then immediately wished he hadn't. She was dressed in shorts that were _entirely_ too short and a loose fitting shirt that was bunched up exposing her stomach and back. Draco had all of twenty seconds to take in her form - the barest he had ever seen it - and in those twenty seconds he fought the urge to graze his fingers across her thighs, her hips, her ribs. He has the urge to _touch_ her, because not only was he a boy, but he is her _spouse._ And it's a normal desire to want to touch her body, - and the bond does nothing but enhance these _normal_ feelings for her- but he doesn't have her permission and she will murder him if he does so.

But for the smallest of moments Draco's eyes drifted to her back, and he noticed what look like welts that have scarred and he felt a cold fury flow over him. Someone had _harmed_ her. Someone had _touched_ her. And before he could think of who would want to do such a thing, Potter's eyes flew open and she let out a shriek after seeing him over top of her.

Her hand went to slap him, except Draco was ready for it, and so he managed to catch her wrist before it could connect and yanked her up out of bed by it.

"What the actual _fuck_ are you playing at?" she practically spat while struggling against him ,but he didn't release his hold. "Standing over top of me like some sort of pervert!"

"Those marks on your back," he said. "Who left those?"

Draco watched as a panicked look crossed her features and he knew that if he didn't have a good hold on her, she would have bolted.

"That's - it's none of your _business!"_

"Someone used it as a punishment," he pressed. "It's barbaric! I have a right to know as your hus-"

" _You_ are not - you're not _that word_ to me! I can't even say it in _reference_ to you!"

He released her and watched as she rubbed her wrist as though it had been scalded. Her eyes met his in a challenge for the briefest moment before looking over his uniform and going wide.

" _Shite!_ We're going to be late for class! Why didn't you wake me?"

"I _tried._ Several times, but you're insufferable in the mornings."

"Next time get water and just pour it on me!" she said, grabbing her uniform off the ground and pulling the curtains to her bed shut around her to change. "It's what Hermione has to do in the mornings!"

Draco was nearly about to tell her that it's not his responsibility. But it is now. And she's truly, truly insufferable but he doesn't mind suffering a bit for her. And he felt a bit pathetic for it.

* * *

They didn't have enough time to make it to breakfast.

They _barely_ made it to Charms in time, but Harry suspected hat had something to do with her shoving Malfoy onto the moving staircase more than waking up late. She had nearly passed out from her head pounding for those few moments, but it was worth it.

It was the most rise she had been able to get out of him all year, and she suspected she could go for a whole week off the way he screamed at her.

But the high she felt dissipated as soon as they enter the classroom, and the rest of the eighth years ceased their chatter which was no doubt about Malfoy and herself. The class sat silently staring at them all except for Hermione (who was motioning for Harry to join her and Ron) and Parkinson (who was motioning for Malfoy).

"Let's sit with your friends," said Malfoy after spotting Harry's hesitance.

"What?"

"Your friends," he said again slowly. "Let's sit with them for this class."

"Why do you want-"

Professor Flitwick, who had been turned towards the back of the class when they entered, took his spot on the top of his books and cleared his throat. He was more laid back than many of their other professors and often had trouble gaining control of the class because of that fact. But he was warm and easily amused, which Harry found endearing, especially when she was caught goofing off and he gave no real consequence.

"Ah! Miss Potter, Mr. Malfoy. If you will, take your seats, and we can begin," said Flitwick kindly.

Harry strode towards her friends, aware of Malfoy directly behind her, and took a seat next to Hermione. It wasn't till she had pulled out her quill that she noticed Ron, who was seated on Hermione's other side, had a bandage on his right hand that was tinted red.

"What happened to you?" she hissed at him as Flitwick droned on about the importance of nonverbal spells. "Did you get into a fight?"

"No," he said not quite meeting her eye. "I didn't."

"Then what-"

" _Ronald_ punched a wall," said Hermione rolling her eyes.

"Why'd you go and do that?"

"Three guesses," he said coldly.

Harry tensed in her seat and shifted a glance towards Malfoy. He was listening in on their conversation. She could tell by the way he gripped his quill too tightly and his knuckles turned - if possible - even whiter.

She observed Malfoy for a moment. She was never this close to him without some sort of argument breaking out.

Harry thought it odd how different she was from Malfoy, and wondered why her magic had decided to bond them together of all people. Her skin was a darker tone than his, making her look as though she was always kissed by the sun no matter what time of year it was; while he was extremely pale and looked as though his skin had never seen sunlight. Her hair was dark as a raven's feather, thick and wild. Though chopping her hair off had helped that some, it still stuck out sorely against his white blonde locks. Harry was taller than the average girl, but Malfoy himself was incredibly tall. Something Harry had not noticed until yesterday when she had to stand on her toes to kiss him, and had pulled him down by his shirt to get better access.

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest at the thought of the kiss. It was rough and aggressive and everything that their fights were made of, but it was also more resolving than their fights in some strange way.

And she wanted to do it again against her better judgement.

Malfoy suddenly looked alert, his eyes widening, and he turned towards her as though he had heard her thoughts. She wondered for a moment if perhaps he _had_ been able to peek inside her mind with the way he was looking at her.

They sat there, staring at one another for a moment, her mouth slightly agape and his eyes dark with hunger and for a brief moment Harry felt another heart beating within her chest. Matching her rapid pace, and filling her until all she could hear were their hearts, together, in her ears.

She felt as though she would burst. The sound was so deafening. And then Malfoy grabbed her hand under their table and rubbed a thumb over it and the noise of the classroom came back to the forefront of her mind.

And for the second time in her life, she didn't pull away from Malfoy's touch.

* * *

Potter had let him _touch_ her.

It was just a simple brush of his calloused thumb against the soft skin of her hand, but it was something. He had nearly snapped his quill in half listening to the conversation between the trio, when he felt _it._ The burning warmth of desire, bubbling up in him, and he almost thought that he was going mad until he realized that it wasn't _from_ him.

It was Potter.

She was staring at him as though seeing him for the first time, and she took no notice of the way she was beginning vibrate their table with her magic. She was nearly about to go off - he could sense it - when he took a risk. He grabbed her hand, and without really knowing _how,_ transferred a calmer sort of energy into her which thankfully took effect before she could blow up another classroom.

Potter may not have noticed what had happened, but Weasley and Granger did.

Granger looked perplexed where as Weasley looked livid; his eyes locked on their clasped hands as though it were something offensive.

White he was making the smallest bit of progress with Potter, his plan of reconciling with Weasley and Granger was proving to be more difficult than he previously expected. Not that he had planned on it going smoothly in the first place, but if Weasley's bloody hand was any indication of how he felt towards Draco, it was further solidified by the coldness of which he treated him the remainder of the day.

Weasley refused to speak directly to him - not that Draco himself was doing much engaging - but it was getting rather tiring to be talked over as though he did not exist; and when he did pay any sort of mind towards Draco it was when he deemed him too close to Potter. Weasley acted almost feral around Potter. As though Draco was another male coming into his territory.

But Draco finally broke when Weasley and Granger accompanied them to their new dorm after dinner. Potter - who had been abnormally quiet since Charms - had stumbled clumsily over the portrait entrance and Draco had managed to catch her before she fell.

"Are you okay?" he asked, steadying her in place.

"Yeah," she said. She didn't quite meet him in the eye as she spoke. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Draco wondered if perhaps, with his hands on her shoulders as they were, if he could transfer another burst of energy towards her at that moment. If he could make her feel more relaxed. More at ease. She had been off balance the whole day. And then he felt it, bubbling in his chest and rushing out to his arm, pooling at his fingertips. It wasn't quite his own magic and yet it was. It felt like a hurricane pushing out of him and he realized that he wasn't _giving_ her any sort of push, he was _taking_ from her the distress she felt.

It was fire, it was brimstone, it was smothering heat.

It was everything that made up Potter, and he wondered if this was what it was like to be her. Constant battling of power, and the feeling of it being just _too much._

She truly had no control over her magic, because how could she? He didn't understand how it wasn't tearing her apart right now, how it wasn't tearing her to shreds. Because he felt as though he himself would combust with the sheer force of it all.

He thought about pulling away - it was just _too much_ to handle - but her eyes met his at that moment, and he saw in them the first traces of unfamiliar calm. Her eyes nearly always _burned_ as though she could set the world aflame, but she looked at Draco now as though her vision wasn't tainted for the first time.

As though they were eleven again, meeting for the first time, and he had the possibility of being good and pure and everything that he absolutely wasn't.

But could be.

And he thought in that moment that he would hold on for just a bit longer - even if it meant being consumed by her fire - if just for a moment longer she would continue to look at him that way.

And then Weasley announced his presence once more by shoving Draco roughly away from Potter and causing him to collide against the wall.

" _Stop it!"_ he spat. "Stop _doing_ that to her!"

"Ronald!" Granger gripped Weasley's arm, but it did nothing to stop his advancing towards Draco.

"What is it exactly that you think I'm _doing_ to her, Weasley?" Draco dropped his bag down on the floor. Striding across the room to meet Weasley. "I haven't once harmed her in anyway."

"That - that _thing_ you're doing to her! You did it in Charms, and you did it again just now! She doesn't look like herself when you're doing it. Like she's gone out of her right mind!"

" _Calming_ her?" hissed Draco. "You have a problem with me trying to _calm_ her before she blows us all up?"

"That's what you're doing?" It was Granger who asked this time. Her eyes wide, her tone purely quizzical. "You have that sort of effect - that sort of _ability -_ over her?"

"Yes," said Draco, his eyes looking past Weasley and focusing on Granger. "I do."

"Because of the bond?"

"Indeed, Granger. Still top of our class I see."

" _Don't_ talk to her like that," roared Weasley. "Don't talk to Hermione like that, and don't touch Harry!"

"Are you having trouble remembering which girl you're apparently dating, Weasley?" taunted Draco. "Because I can help you figure it out if you'd like. Here's a hint - _it's not my wife!"_

" _That's enough!"_

Draco and Weasley were practically nose to nose when Potter's voice startled them apart, and Draco was horrified that he had forgotten she was even in the room for the progression of the argument. Looking at her, she was apparently cross about it as well, for Draco was able to look in her eyes and see the cold fury back once more.

Everything he had taken from her, had shouldered for her, was back within her. His work had been undone.

"I'm still here," she spat. "In case anyone has _forgotten._

"Harry," Weasley swallows. "Mate-"

"I want you to leave," she said, and Draco had never heard her use that tone with Weasley before. It was normally reserved for Draco himself. " _Now._ I'm tired, and I just want to go to bed."

For a moment, Weasley looked as though he wasn't going to back down, and his mouth was open in protest, but then Granger cut in; tugging on the sleeve of his school robes and turning her chocolate eyes on him.

"Ron, it's been a long day for Harry. We ought to let her get some rest," she said. "The bond is still fresh and they're still getting _accustomed_ to everything."

Weasley glanced at Potter one last time - his mouth a thin line, his eyes wide - before turning to head out of the portrait. Granger followed him, pausing once she's about to leave to give Potter a small wave and Draco doesn't know if Potter returns it. He's too terrified to look at her.

But then she clears her throat after her friends are gone, and Draco had to turn and for the first time in his life, he's unable to read her expression. "I told you, I'm _not_ your wife."

"Potter-"

"We make no sense, you and I," she said, not vicious or cruel. But almost sad. "I'm going to bed."

And Draco, having no other option, followed her.

* * *

That night Harry dreamed of Private Drive and the Dursleys.

She dreamed of sizzling bacon, cupboards under the stairs, bars on a window, garden shears, and pots and pots of petunias.

Never any lilies.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey everyone! Super sorry about the long wait on this chapter. To be honest, I didn't know if it really had much of a following compared to my Harriet/George stories and sort of got discouraged until I got an ask about it on tumblr.**

 **If you're following this story please, please leave a comment!**

 **And you can follow me on tumblr as alrightginger if you'd like!**

 **Chapter Six**

When Draco was in his sixth year of schooling he would often spend his mornings staring at Potter from the distance of the Slytherin table. His friends, barely in the realm of consciousness, remained completely unaware.

And so Draco found himself not having to mask his expression with a scowl.

Staring at Potter - there as she was, separated by both the distance of the Great Hall and the title of Gryffindor that she possessed- Draco felt an odd sort of softness cross over his features. As though they were able to relax in a way he was not accustomed to, but, perhaps, in a way that they were designed to.

That they were _meant_ to.

He would have found it more odd, had he not been nearly sick with jealousy watching on as she laughed at something Weasley said. It was as though someone had stabbed him in the gut, twisting the knife at the exact moment that he watched her double over, placing a hand on the redhead's shoulder for support.

Her laugh echoed across the Great Hall, bouncing around inside of Draco's head.

He wondered what something as simple as her hand gently touching his shoulder would feel like. Something gentle. Something soft.

When she slapped him, it stung for hours afterwards. He wondered if her softer touches would linger as well, and his own hand flexed at the thought.

He hated that the other boy got to know those things about her. He hated how Weasley knew how to make her laugh, knew what her hand felt like simply resting against him.

It was hard, Draco mused, watching on as the girl you were trying so desperately not to love was loved by others.

And loved others in a way that she never would him.

* * *

 _There was a fire._

 _She could smell the burning of wood and thought immediately of Aunt Petunia's precious hardwood floors being turned to ash._

 _Smoke was pouring in through the vent on the door, black and thick, and causing her eyes to sting. Her chest felt tight and heavy as she coughed, breathing it in._

 _Her door was locked and the handle burned her hand as she fought with it. She must have been punished for something before going to bed, but she couldn't remember what._

 _She would surely die in here, she thought._

 _No one would come to save her._

 _No one ever had before._

 _The heat was becoming unbearable, flames flickering through the bottom of her cupboard door and Harry found herself choking on it, unable to call out for help as it burned her throat._

 _This wasn't how she was supposed to go. Not after defeating a Dark Lord. Not after she was finally able to taste her first bits of freedom for the first time in years. Not after she was getting a fresh start._

 _Not after_ everything.

 _She felt as though she was collapsing, her knees giving away from underneath her, but she seemed to fall forever._

 _As if fate wanted her to live out this moment forever._

 _The seconds that felt like an eternity before she died.._

"HARRIET!"

Harry shot up in bed, breathing heavily, and clawing at herself. Her lungs were not filled with smoke, her skin not tinged by flames.

It took her eyes several moments to adjust to the darkness and to realize that it was probably very early in the morning.

It took her even longer to realize that someone was squeezing her hand tightly.

"What?" She was panting, and she was positively drenched in sweat. How had she not noticed the way the back of her soaked night shirt was sticking to her? " _What happened?"_

A hand - the hand that wasn't clutching her own and running a thumb across her knuckles - moved to cup her cheek in a more tender gesture than Harry had ever experienced. When the voice spoke, she surprised herself by leaning into the touch rather than jerking away.

"You were having a nightmare." Malfoy. Always Malfoy. His voice was as gentle as his touch and Harry found herself closing her eyes to listen as he softly spoke. "You were crying out and I couldn't get you to wake up."

Her cheeks were wet, she realized, and he was brushing away freshly fallen tears.

She was so disoriented, and that was her reasoning for allowing herself to fall slack against Malfoy. To let out a racking sob against his shoulder, and for not shoving him when she felt his arms wrap tentatively around her. A hand around her waist, pulling her closer, and a hand tangled in her hair the way it had been when they kissed for the first and only time.

"Privet Drive is in flames," she said. She sounded broken even to herself, her voice cracking and wavering.

Malfoy positioned her so that he was nearly cradling her. Harry thought fleetingly that she had never seen him in his pajamas before. Wool pants and simple, soft white t-shirt that was damp with her tears and sweat.

"Where?"

"My - where I grew up," she sniffled. She nearly said the word _home,_ but found that she nearly choked on it. It had never been that word to her, and never would be. But the thought of it being burnt to to ash was hard for her to comprehend. "With the Dursleys...my aunt and uncle. The house - it's

on fire."

"It was just a dream, Harriet." Her name sounded like honey from his lips. Sweet and pure. As though he had waited an eternity to even utter it. "Nothing more."

"It _wasn't,"_ she insisted, rising her head from his chest to look at him. Through the darkness, her eyes found his. Impossibly grey. Impossibly bright. And she pleaded with them. "It's not just a dream. I _saw_ it. I was _there._ In my cupboard. I nearly - I would have _died_ if you hadn't woken me."

Malfoy's lips were a thin line, his jaw tight. He looked pained at her words.

"Hush now, darling. Nothing was going to happen to you."

Her heart was pounding and she wasn't sure if it was from the word _darling_ being used in reference to her, or an aftermath from her dream.

"We have to tell McGonagall," begged Harry, her fingers clawing the material of his shirt tightly. "She has to know. She _needs_ to. It could be another attack."

Malfoy reached up without hesitation this time to brush some of her sweat-soaked fringe back from her forehead, pausing for a brief moment, and Harry suspected he was glancing at her scar.

"Let's go wake her," he said.

* * *

Draco had draped Harriet in his own cloak for the trip to the Headmistress' office.

She was soaked in a cold sweat and shivering, and Draco wondered if she was becoming ill at first. Though her eyes seemed clear and betrayed nothing that would make him assume she was delirious.

She had allowed him to take her by the hand, guiding her down the stairs, and as the portrait swung open, a gust of chilly air blew the cloak from her shoulders.

Draco swallowed, taking her in. She was very frail. He hadn't allowed himself to fully look at her since returning to Hogwarts. It had been too painful to look at her. She had always been beautiful. But now, the moonlight pouring through the window, he could clearly see the effect the war had on her. She was thin. Thinner than she had ever been. A bit beaten down.

But she was still breathtakingly beautiful.

Especially in his old Slytherin robe. The crest stood out, illuminated by the moonlight; and while Draco thought that, perhaps, it would have been a horrible contrast for her to wear his robe, one that would show all the ways in which they weren't meant to be together, he found that it rather complimented her.

"Here," he said to her, adjusting his robe around her, pausing briefly when she looked up him with her emerald eyes. He always thought her eyes would be the death of him, and he was sure now more than ever that it was precisely the way he wanted to go.

She could shoot him down with the barrel of her wand, and he would die happily with one last glimpse of her eyes.

They were still for a moment, and Draco realized through the silence that they were both holding their breaths. He was fairly certain that, if he leaned down ever so slightly, perhaps placing two fingers under chin to tilt it upwards to give him better access, she would let him kiss her, and he was almost about to test his theory when a voice interrupted, causing them both to jump.

"Who's there! Show yourself, you scoundrels, or face the wrath of Sir Cadogan!"

"It's us you dimwit! The only two people who actually _live_ here," Draco hissed. Honestly, he had never liked the damned portrait less.

"Alas! Tis only the young couple up out of bed," said Cadogan, putting his sword in his sheath and gazing at them fondly. "I keep a diligent watch, you see. No harm will befall you as long as I'm on guard."

"Indeed," said Draco, narrowing his eyes.

Harriet had let go of his hand during the knight's outburst, and Draco felt the lost contact like a phantom limb.

"Sir Cadogan," started Harriet, her tone much softer than Draco's, "do you think you'd be up for a mission?"

Cadogan's eyes lit up. "A mission! I would be honored!"

Harriet grinned, and Draco felt it crack through his annoyance. "Excellent. Do you think you could run ahead of us, and alert Professor McGonagall that Dra - Malfoy and I are on our way to her office."

"I won't let you down!" cried Cadogan, and before Draco could think of a snide remark he was on his way.

Harriet watched after him, blinking, and Draco found himself glancing over at her. She had almost called him by his first name, and Draco's heart both soared and sunk of the _almost_ of it all.

Harriet turned suddenly, looking at him, and blushing a pretty shade of pink. Draco suspected that she likely felt his mixed emotions, the same way he had felt her nearly go off in Charms, and willed himself to hold it together. The last thing she needed was his unbalance. He wouldn't be the reason that she went off any longer.

"Should we go?" he asked. He thought briefly about holding out his arm for her to take, and then felt rather idiotic for it.

She wouldn't willingly take it.

Harriet tugged on his robe, pulling it closer around her, and Draco noticed how it nearly swallowed her.

She nodded. "Let's go."

They walked together in silence that was neither companionable or awkward. Somewhere in between, as they were currently. The only sound being the echoes of their footsteps, and the occasional portrait grumbling of their disturbed sleep.

When they reached gargoyle Draco swallowed. No matter how many times he visited the office or reminded himself of the new headmistress, to him the office would always feel like Dumbledore's.

A man who thought he could change and offered him the chance of redemption.

He wasn't sure if redemption was even possible for him, but he hoped, looking at the girl next to him, that it was.

"Do you know the password?" she asked, turning towards him with wide eyes. Like a doe. "I don't think it would be any of my...normal guesses."

"Assuming she didn't change it from my last visit," he said before clearing his throat and speaking directly to the gargoyle, " _Artemis."_

"Fitting," said Harriet.

"What do you mean?"

"No time," she said, shaking her head. "Come on. We have to hurry."

She took the stairs two at a time, though Draco was easily able to keep up with her gate, following quickly behind her. He wondered how much stock she was putting into this dream of hers, and how real she must assume it to be for her to insist on seeing the headmistress.

When they reached the end of the spiral staircase, Harriet was panting once more, and Draco could feel her near collapse through their bond. She was so very weak.

McGonagall was waiting for them as though she had just flied into the room moments before them. She looked positively disheveled. Her hair was released from its normal tight bun, flowing over her shoulders, and she had a dark green night robe tied around her.

If it were custom for a Malfoy to blush, Draco was certain that now would have been the time. But instead, he heard his father's scolding in the back of his head and averted his eyes.

"Potter, Malfoy, what's the meaning of all this?" she asked, and through the stern words Draco could make out her concerned tone. "What on earth has happened?"

" _Professor."_ Harriet exhaled the word. Breathing it like a prayer as she fell slack against the stone wall. "Privet Drive - it's in flames."

McGonagall's brow furrowed, confusion evident on her face as she took in Harriet's words. "What do you mean?"

"She had a nightmare," spoke Draco, sensing that Harriet was struggling for breath. "Her childhood home was on fire, and she was there."

"A dream," whispered McGonagall. "But you haven't -"

"It wasn't _just_ a dream," argued Harriet. "It was - it was like _before._ With Voldemort. So real and vivid. Like I was actually _there._ I could feel the heat and smell the smoke. I felt like I was suffocating. Like I - like I was _dying."_

Something inside of Draco twisted, as though he was being stabbed in the gut. He was torn between pure horror that she had felt like she was being burned alive, and confusion at her confession that Voldemort had been inside her head. Draco had always suspected that Harriet and Riddle had share some sort of odd connection, but the Dark Lord had done everything he could to cover it up. To keep others - even those closest to him - from finding out too much information. But would he have really had the capability to get inside her head in such a way? To manipulate her dreams?

He wondered how she hadn't gone positively mad if that were indeed the case.

And then he wondered if, perhaps, there was _someone else_ with that ability.

McGonagall seemed to come to terms with Harriet's words faster than Draco, moving swiftly towards Phineas Black's portrait who was eyeing her in a way that reminded Draco of his mother.

"Phineas," started McGonagall, "I need you to go to the ministry and find out what you can about Potter's old home. Report back as soon as you can."

"You can't be serious!" scoffed Phineas. "All this over a _dream_ the girl had?"

" _Go!"_ hissed McGonagall.

If it were possible, Draco thought Phineas would have slammed something as he disappeared, leaving his portrait empty and grumbling the whole way. It would have been more comical if he wasn't completely on edge from McGonagall's decision to send word to the ministry. She seemed to take Harriet's word very seriously, and not that Draco himself didn't, but he felt as though he was missing out on something. Several somethings. As though the pieces that made up Harriet were harder to put together than he previously imagined.

As though he was missing a few.

"Why don't you sit down while we wait," said McGonagall, gesturing to the chairs across from her as she nearly collapsed into her own. "It could take a while, and you look like you've been through hell, Potter."

Harriet was too tired to protest, allowing herself to fall into the chair, and looking up at Draco expectantly. It took him several moments to realize that she was waiting for him to sit next to her. He had been so caught up in his own racing thoughts, and concern for her that he didn't realize that he was still standing.

"Professor," he said, swallowing slowly as he chose his words carefully. "Do you - do you think her dream is _real?_ And if it is, do you think it could have anything to do with the attacks on my own home?"

McGonagall sighed, gazing at him wearily. "I have reason to believe Potter's dream could be real, yes. Going by nothing more than past experience at this moment. As for the attacks and the possible connection - the ministry is truly doing all the can to figure out who is behind them, but they're coming up short handed at every turn."

"Do they have any sort of lead? Any _idea_ who could be behind them?" asked Potter.

"I haven't spoken to Kingsley much since the term started, but from what I've gathered they haven't been able to pin down the person or persons who have been behind them. There's absolutely no trace of magic or evidence left behind. It's all very baffling. They suspected that it was the work of an amature. Perhaps someone who wasn't satisfied with how things _ended."_

Draco knew that she meant the war, and knew that she meant either side of the war. It could very well be a follower of the Dark Lord who was unable to accept their loss, or even someone from Potter's side, who didn't think that those who had served under Voldemort were getting enough of a punishment.

Like Draco and his family.

"It's true," said a voice, startling Draco from his thoughts. He turned to see Phineas had returned, looking far more grave than when he left. "Potter's old home was burned down. Shacklebolt will be over shortly to speak to both you and the girl. They have some people at the scene right now, but from what I heard they weren't able to find anyone."

Draco turned, seeing Harriet growing pale and decided to take a chance on reaching out for her again. Her fingers were trembling when they brushed his own, but she didn't pull away from his touch. Rather, she clung tightly to him, looking him in the eye, and Draco could see that she was truly scared.

"Thank you, Phineas," said McGonagall, dismissing him. "Potter, I - "

"I need to go," said Harriet so suddenly and with such force that both McGonagall and Draco jumped. "I need to go see it. I _have_ to go see it."

"Potter, it's nearly three in the morning -"

"I don't care," she said, nearly hysterical. " _I don't care._ Please. You have to let me go."

McGonagall looked her over, the older woman's eyes showing something more than concern for a student.

"I think she needs - I think she _should_ go," said Draco. His voice sounded foreign to him. Almost authoritative and he felt Harriet's hand squeeze his as he spoke. "If you can't provide a way for us to go, I'll find another. Or she will. She's resourceful."

McGonagall sighed, relenting. "Very well. Give me a couple hours, and I'll find someone to escort you."

The headmistress let out a shaky breath, pulling her glasses away and rubbing the bridge of her nose. Harriet had gone still, her sun-kissed skin the whitest Draco had ever seen it.

"Are you alright?" asked Draco.

Harriet shook her head. "I don't - I don't know. I don't know how to feel about returning to the Dursley's. About the fact that it's _gone."_

But Draco knew how she felt.

Because he could feel the fear coursing through her, and how it paralyzed her.


End file.
